t particular, until Polly was nearly
frantic.

Now in her own room, which was a small one, but belonged to her alone,
the girl dashed cold water on her face until she began to feel her
temper cooling down. Then with a book in her lap she planted herself
in a low chair. The book was a collection of Camp Fire songs which
Sylvia Wharton had given her. And although Polly could not sing, the
poetry and inspiration of them was so lovely that she felt they might
be a consoling influence.

Nevertheless Polly did not commence reading at once. Instead, her thin
shoulders drooped forward pathetically, and putting one elbow on her
knee she rested her pointed chin in her hand.

For she was unhappy without any real reason in the world. Polly
O'Neill was one of the sensitive and emotional persons who must always
be more or less miserable in the wrong environment. She did not like
being at boarding school and yet she did not wish to return to Woodford
to live in her stepfather's house in circumstances so different from
those of her old life. Besides, had not Miss Adams advised that she
spend several years away from Woodford in order to see more of the
outside world and its myriad types of men and women? She could not ask
to be allowed to come back home now, after the fight she had made to
leave. Moreover, she was learning many things that might be useful to
her as an actress. Miss Adams herself had said so. There was no fault
with the opportunities for study at Miss Elkins', only with the
interest of the girls. She herself was working hard at French and
German and physical culture and was having some special private
teaching in elocution by a master recommended by Miss Adams.

No, Polly did not intend to give up. Only she was trying to decide
whether or not to return to Woodford for the Christmas holidays. She
was longing to see her mother and Mollie and Betty Ashton. Yet Frank
Wharton would be at home and she and Frank had quarreled all the time
that they had been in the house together during the past summer. And
her mother and Mollie were so wrapped up in one another and in the
splendid new home and in Mr. Wharton! Polly felt herself almost an
outsider when she thought of the days when they had lived in their own
little cottage just opposite the Princess.

Then, at the thought of Betty Ashton, the slightly hard look in Polly's
Irish blue eyes faded. Of the Princess' understanding and affection
she could always